


feathered

by marcceh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Birbs, Gen, Kid Fic, Time Jump, as in theyre kids, but also birds, oc mummy, sort of a magical realism au, to adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcceh/pseuds/marcceh
Summary: A small boy turns up on her doorstep one day, and hands her an egg.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Virginia Holmes opens the front door to a gust of rain wind and a small, tiny huff.

She looks down to find a mop o f russet hair topping off a small boy wearing a lumpy mac who seems to be carrying a heavy lump in his arms. On second glance a pretty, egg-shaped rock.

“Hello ma’am,” he says while dripping in the doorway instead of entering, as if he’s concentrating on his carefully practiced words. “I heard your clan has - not yet to produce any - babies.”

Virginia raises an eyebrow. What an odd speech to have memorized. And the cadence is all wrong, though she can tell he’s worked hard on the pronunciation. She can’t quite deduce his original accent, but wonders if he is not English.

“Where did you hear such a thing, I wonder?” she says, amused. It’s as close as she’ll get in letting herself come across offended. 

The child huffs, cheeks inflating. He pushes, with some effort, the rock up to chest height.

“I brought you an egg,” he says, voice muffled behind the thing.

Ah, what could it hurt. Worst case, some neighbor would report some stolen rock this afternoon, and she could return it. Virginia takes the egg, nearly dropping it out of surprise, as her hands close on either side. It’s - warm. Almost pulsing. As if alive.

“Please give it a blanket,” the little cherubic child says, gray eyes blinking up at her. “A soft one. Blue if you have it, he likes that.”

“He?”

The child nods furiously, then turns and runs away.

“Wait!”

He doesn’t.

.

Virginia peruses encyclopedias, hoping she hasn’t accidentally signed up to mother an endangered species of giant bird. It’s not a reptile egg, that much she’s ascertained. 

It’s nestled in the crib for the baby that won’t ever come, and she says as much when her husband asks. He clucks his tongue at her. “Morbid sense of humor,” he says.

She wraps it in blankets - blue - and shines a warming light on it. She starts to spend more and more time in the nursery, until weeks later she realizes she’s already moved the majority of her office into the baby’s room. 

Then she hears a crack.

.

Tufts of black, gooey with residue. Some pale, thin looking skin. Oh, what sort of horrid, ugly bird baby shall this be?

Virginia rushes over, and she hears a something like a sneeze. A large half of the egg drops away, and he sits up - he, definitely - snot trailing down his face, hair and skin sticky, a tremendous frown on his face. 

Oh, she wants to laugh. A baby boy! No, judging by experience, closer to 18 months. The size of the egg should have given it away. How curious.

“Richard!” she calls, loudly.

“Ack!” the baby yells at her, as if put off to not have her immediate attention. She coos at him, picking a piece of shell out of his hair. She can’t fully suppress her laughter. What a temperamental child!

He struggles, wiggling as she tries to free him of the remaining coo and bits of egg. 

“Richard, where did we put that tub?” Virginia calls. It must be in one of the closets, somewhere. “The baby tub the Weathersons gifted us?”

“What?” he calls from somewhere down the hall.

“We’ll need a bath,” she says.

“Who? Who needs a bath?” the bafflement is clear even before he clears the doorway. Then he sees Virginia, and sees past Virginia to the groggy little grump who looks like he’s just awaken from a long nap, and he crumples backwards.


	2. Chapter 2

Truth be told, Virginia didn’t think she would see the freckled little frumpy boy again, but there he is. Sitting at her kitchen table, eating a jam sandwich.

He wipes his mouth and rips off the tiniest bit of jammy bread, extending it toward the high chair where baby William sits, only to have it swatted out of his hand.

“The jam is very good, thank you ma’am,” he says politely, still eyeing the baby with interest. “Sherlock is just fussy.”

“Sherlock?” Virginia looks at his lumpy coat and now has an inkling of what might be hiding under there. She had asked to take it, but the boy refused. Adamantly. 

He turns wide, sad eyes on her.

“You’ve already named him,” he says.

Of course she has.

“William Scott Holmes,” she says, and can’t help but smile as she strokes the toddler’s hair. He fusses happily with his own fruit pottage, making a right mess that the boy seems to disapprove of.

He looks so stricken she reconsiders.

“Perhaps a middle name...” she muses. William Sherlock Scott Holmes was quite a mouthful though, wasn’t it? “Is it a family name?”

The boy looks caught at that, all deer-in-headlights. He hasn’t told her his name, yet, and has sidestepped the question twice.

“No,” he finally says.

“And what should dear Sherlock call you?”

He fusses with he sandwich, shredding the crusts as the internal struggle plays out clearly. He wants his baby brother (it must be) to know his name, but for some reason is wary of sharing it. Is he on the run?The children seem perfectly normal, but Virginia is under no illusions. She saw this baby hatch from an actual egg. She knows there is nothing normal with the quaint mid-morning tea they are having.

“Mycroft,” he finally says, earning a squawk from the baby. Mycroft smiles. “Nice to meet you, Sherlock. I’m Mycroft.”

William wiggles happily at the introduction, then, while Mycroft is unnoticing, picks up a handful of his mashed fruit and chucks it with surprising aim at his brother. He giggles raucously at the shock it causes, while Mycroft fusses with wiping the purée out of his hair. Virginia helps.

“And will you be staying, Mycroft?” she asks, causing him to still. She hadn’t been planning on it, but then again she hadn’t been planning on hatching a baby from an egg. But it’s clear the two must be brothers - she has no intention of splitting the two now.

What she doesn’t expect is the panicked look Mycroft gives her, dropping his bit of bread altogether.

“I have - um,” he says, wiping his hands on his coat, before throwing William a nervous glance. He doesn’t meet her eyes as he nervously searches his coat pockets for something, pulling out a round blue stone, a small pendant on a loop of string. He slows to carefully place the necklace over a protesting William’s head, and then turns to Virginia beseechingly.

“He should wear it,” Mycroft says. “It will keep him safe.”

“From what?” Virginia asks. The little boy nearly trips over the legs of his chair in his haste to avoid her.

“I have to go,” he says.

“Mycroft,” she says sternly, not unlike a parent would.

“I will come back!” he calls, in his desperate sprint for the door.

He doesn’t.


End file.
